How My Life Changed After a Massage

“Now that is a full body massage,” he said right after I had pushed his hand away from my vagina.

I was 12. He was my aunt’s boyfriend. He used to give me and my sisters massages on his massage table because that was one of his professions at the time. 

From the beginning, I knew he was a creep. My aunt met him through my eldest sister, who was 20 at the time. They both claimed they were just friends, but when a 50-year-old man is massaging and hanging out with a 20 year old girl, you question it. He admittedly had sex with one of my sister’s friends, apparently consensually. Yet, we let him in anyways. We all did. We let him infect our family. Was it because he had money? Was it because he made my aunt happy? Was it because we were just too lazy to care? I don’t know. 

I didn’t tell my family for 8 years. For every holiday and family get together, I just pretended that nothing happened. My aunt has always been mentally unstable with suicidal tendencies, and because of that, I didn’t tell anyone what happened. I didn’t want her to kill herself. I didn’t tell because I thought my brain was lying to me. I didn’t tell because I was worried people wouldn’t believe me. I didn’t tell because I was ashamed. I didn’t tell for a plethora of reasons. 

I didn’t tell my family for 8 years. For every holiday and family get together, I just pretended that nothing happened.

After help from my best friend in college and a decent therapist, I told my family two months before my college graduation. Everyone was loving and supportive, including my aunt. However, she chose to stay with him and has stayed with him ever since. She says she knows I’m telling the truth, but she can’t come to terms with it. She says he keeps telling her I’m lying, and she doesn’t know who to believe. 

I’m trying to press charges. I took time off work and flew down to my home state to try to meet with him to get him to admit, on recording, what he did. Three months before I told my family what he did, I called him. I confronted him, and he apologized. He said he was drunk. He said I’m the only one he’s done it to. He said he was sorry. I didn’t believe any of it. I told him he could never attend a family event that I’m at again, or I’m telling the family. I didn’t even give him an option to answer. I just hung up after that. The first family event he missed. The second one he did attend, so I told my family. 

Yet, we let him in anyways. We all did. We let him infect our family. Was it because he had money? Was it because he made my aunt happy? Was it because we were just too lazy to care? I don't know.

After telling my family, he refused to meet with me. He suspects my motives. My detective is, supposedly, going to interview him and try to get a confession. My detective seems like he either doesn’t know what he’s doing or doesn’t care. I mean no disrespect to him, but he didn’t contact me for six months after I initially reached out to him. I tried contacting him multiple times, but he didn’t respond. Finally, after waiting six months to hear from him, he responded with the idea of trying to talk with my aunt’s boyfriend in person. We tried that and know that hasn’t worked. Since then, my detective has been MIA again for the last two months. Maybe this wait time is normal, but it sure does feel like he’s treating my assault like a fucking parking ticket.

I’m mad if you haven’t picked that up yet. It’s been 10 years since he assaulted me, but he hasn’t left. He’s still plaguing my family. I hear about him from my grandmother, who my aunt and him take care of. My aunt texts me every once in awhile. It always gives me hope she’ll leave him, but she hasn’t yet. I could complain about a lot more, but that wouldn’t be productive. You can only bitch so much until you need to move through it.

Maybe this wait time is normal, but it sure does feel like he’s treating my assault like a fucking parking ticket.

So what do I do now? When I feel that anger bubble inside of me I run or I lift weights. I work my body to exhaustion while internally screaming over the emotional pain I am feeling. I also talk about it. I ask for help when I need to. I’ve started a weekly mental health/yoga/nature/art time/meditation with one of my friends and a weekly mental health check-in with another friend that lives in another town. I force myself to talk about the sharp details that jab at my heart. I force myself to consider that my aunt may never leave him. I force myself to consider that he may never have any repercussions for his acts. I force myself to think of the worst case scenarios because the world isn’t perfect, and I need to prepare for this battle. I’m not negative. I believe in positivity, but I believe in being prepared. Whatever happens, I’ve fought for myself and others. I will keep fighting, and I will keep healing.